The Truth, Obscured
by RhiannonWrites
Summary: Just a short little post-season 4 finale story. What happened when Grissom drove Sara home after her almost-DUI? We'd all like to believe it was rampant make-like-bunny goodness, but we know it wasn't. Yes, you do too know it wasn't. Read and review!


Author's Note: This is angsty. Oh, the angst. Please don't cry. Set immediately after the season 4 finale.

Disclaimer: The Truth, Clarified: Not mine, except in those vivid dreams I keep having.

* * *

"When I tell you the truth, will you leave?"

"I don't know," he responds honestly. "I don't think so."

"That's…not very encouraging."

He sighs. "I won't leave, Sara."

"All right." She swallows hard. "I started drinking after the lab explosion."

His eyes widen a little. "That long?"

She nods, her fingers twisted together in her lap. He is sitting on the edge of her bed, next to her, and it seems a strange intimacy.

"Is it because—" He makes a vague gesture, and she nods again.

"It wasn't very easy for me. You said no like I was a child you were scolding."

"I'm sorry." His voice is low, the apology difficult. He does not think he was wrong, but he supposes he could have been nicer about it.

"No, it's fine. Really. Jim warned me, but I guess I wasn't ready to listen."

"Jim knew." His voice is a little hard. Jim is perhaps his closest friend, certainly his oldest. He has known the gruff detective for even longer than Catherine. He cannot quite believe Jim kept this from him.

"Yeah. Jim knew."

He clears his throat and shifts a little beside her. Tentatively, her hand comes out and rests on his thigh, just above his knee. Despite his taking her hand in the police station earlier as he offered to take her home, the physical connection is too unsettling. He lightly lifts her hand from his leg and drops it between their bodies, on the mattress.

"Wow. How much do you hate me, Grissom?"

He turns to her, eyebrows raised and drawn together. "I don't hate you, Sara."

"But you can't stand to have me touch you."

"Not like that, no."

Her lips twist a little. "Because you can't take the risk."

He stares at her, openly horrified. "_What_ did you say?"

"Nothing."

He is wound tightly inside, his heart hammering against his chest. "Sara."

"It's fine, Grissom. I get it, really."

The room is hot, and he feels like he is going to throw up. "I sincerely doubt that."

"I heard you with Lurie. It's fine. Really."

"There is never a time when I am surer that things are not _fine_ than when you tell me they are."

"Convoluted." Her voice is thick with amusement and alcohol. "I'm tired. You should probably go. Thanks for the ride."

"Sara—" He is not sure what he should say here. Everything seems very confusing.

"Grissom, seriously. Go."

He is a little angry now. Bombshells are dropping on him left and right, and this war zone offers little in the way of protection. He could have let them arrest her. He took her home instead.

He turns to her, takes her chin in his hand. His fingers are strong on her jaw, and her eyes are a little wide. He leans close enough to smell the whisky on her breath before he says shortly, "Don't ever do this again, Sara. I mean it."

"You're not my boss here, Grissom. You can't tell me what to do."

Images swim across his brain before he can prevent them, and he is so aroused by them that he almost kisses her: Sara, stripped and bound with black silk to her headboard, his knees on either side of her beautiful face as he commands her to take him in her mouth…his hands torturing her over and over to the brink of orgasm but forbidding her to find release, until she is sobbing out her pleas to him, to God, to anyone…his shaking, hoarse voice telling her precisely how to touch him as she writhes beneath his body, her eyes obscured with a length of dark red fabric…

He drops his hand from her face. "I suppose not."

Her face is immediately apologetic. "I didn't mean that."

He shakes his head. "No, you did. And that's fine, Sara. But next time, I don't know that I'll be able to take you home and make it all go away."

Her laugh is bitter as she flops back against the softness of her mattress, directing her eyes to the ceiling. "You never make anything go away, Grissom. Mostly, you just make things worse."

Feeling as though she has sliced through his defenses and penetrated his heart, he passes a hand over his face and clenches his jaw. "Goodnight, Sara."

She does not turn her face to his. "Goodnight."

The sound of the door closing behind him does not obscure the heart-wrenching sound of her sobs. He does not turn back.

FIN

(Author's Note 2: I'm sorry! I'm sorry! But you know stuff like this happened before the stuff that makes us tingly. You know it did. I hear season 9 is not cheerful. Please do not read this and cry yourself to sleep. I will have something happy and yummy for you soon.)


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